Halibut and unfolded laundry

My face, that when animated
may pass as interesting
but frozen, is a death mask.

The camera
derides, defiles and denies
me.
Freezes frowns and
upside down smiles.

Sees eyes searching
sullen skies, squinting
and staring 
into the glare of sun.

Forever caught in a tension
of looking, considering
what to prepare for dinner 
or failing that, some
mystery of meteorology.

Furrowed forehead,
a tale of train tracks
that do not meet or chat
but wave in lines
as they pass
horizontal and parallel.

Frown severed
over a bridge of snuffled air
and nasal waste,
a nose crushed and red
veined,
that glows in matt and gloss,

An accident
of juxtaposition.
cheeks uneven,
tracked purple
route maps of sun and soil
and years of outdoor toil.

And cloth hats that hung
on wooden pegs.
Or other heads save mine. 
A visage burnt
and stamped with time

Mouth. Sardonic scar.
Stamped with too much
living.
Twisted from lies
told and heard in the
name of love.

I smile and look horrified
frown and look
curmudgeonly,
I have tried doing neither,
I look numb and
vacant

A study of neurosis.
Chins leaking into layers of
brothers and sisters
that have eaten a neck
once there but now
hidden.

So put the
damn camera away,
If I want to record my
fisogue I will go pose
for an artist.

Picasso perhaps

    -Dave Kavanagh

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